


Let me sleep, ‘cause I’m lost

by Merel



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Bisexuality, Case Fic, Crossdressing, Genderqueer Character, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-20 10:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17020917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merel/pseuds/Merel
Summary: Jean had thought that the guy had wanted to be on time for this, but maybe Mustang really was a slacker. Ah well, that just gave him some time without any real competition. He chanced a look at the girls in the corner. The brunette had turned, giving Jean a view of her unfortunately modest assets. She made up for it in the way her pouty red-painted lips moved into a smirk when she eyed him.“Hey.”





	Let me sleep, ‘cause I’m lost

**Author's Note:**

> Some background: this fic takes place shortly after Mustang acquires his team, so not everyone is familiar with each other yet, and Falman isn't even a part of it :(. Sorry dude, next time maybe.

When he got to the converted warehouse Hawkeye and that little sergeant, Fuery, were already there. In a corner were also two women in revealing outfits. Huh, weird. He thought Heymans had said there was only gonna be one ‘consultant’. Not that Jean was complaining or anything. The blonde one had a really nice pair of tits on display and the brunette had legs for fucking _miles._ Shame she was turned away from him, he didn’t know where the Lieutenant Colonel got his ‘consultants’, but he had never seen one that he was disappointed in.

“Hey.” he said, both to signal to Hawkeye and Fuery that he was here, and to get the brunette to turn around. Hawkeye returned his greeting with a nod, then went back to looking at the maps spread on the center table. Fuery gave a short informal salute, but seemed to want to get back to his little radio devices immediately.

Another weird thing: Mustang wasn’t here yet. He had thought that the guy had wanted to be on time for this, but maybe he really was a slacker. Ah well, that just gave Jean some time without any real competition. He chanced a look at the girls in the corner. The brunette had turned, giving Jean a view of her unfortunately modest assets. She made up for it in the way her pouty red-painted lips moved into a smirk when she eyed him.

“Hey.”

Her voice was low and husky, like she had just screamed herself hoarse. It fit her dark almond-shaped eyes perfectly. Well, looked like he was in the mood for some Xingese tonight. Jean gave a flirty smirk back. She bit her lip and tucked a dark curl of hair behind her ear, showing off the long olive line of her neck. The action guided his eyes down to the modest neckline of her red dress and short fur coat, and further still to the hemline ending well above her knees. She had long and surprisingly muscular legs. He would have loved to see her in high heels, but for some reason she was wearing flats.

He realised he’d been staring too long and looked back up to her heart-shaped face. She hadn’t seemed to mind though, and was smirking at him, cocking her hip. Oh, fuck yeah. He should ask her what she was doing later. Before he could do that though, she made her way over to him, seductively swinging her hips. Her red nails trailed down his shoulders, feeling up his coat pocket before disappearing into his leather jacket. Her fingers caressed his chest, but stopped when she apparently found what she was looking for, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. She shook a few out and then, looking up at him through her long dark lashes, pocketed them in her fur coat. Damn, what a woman. And what a shame that she wasn’t wearing something a little more revealing in the front, because this angle would have given him a perfect view.

She held up his cigarette carton for him to take, and he did so, deliberately touching her fingers longer than he had to. They were the kind of fingers he’d love to see wrapped around his cock, or have them dig into his back. He flicked his eyes up when he put his cigarettes back, checking on the others’ reactions. The blonde ‘consultant’ had her back turned and didn’t seem to be giving them any attention. Fuery also wasn’t looking at them; the little guy was bent over his radio with his face in his hands and Hawkeye was still leaning over the maps, but was pinching the bridge of her nose, looking annoyed.

Oh well. There was a chance that Jean was taking this gorgeous lady home tonight, and he wasn’t about to pass it up just because his teammates were bothered by his behaviour. He looked back at the woman, wanting to say something flirty, but she was faster than him, taking a short, audible intake of breath that sounded so much like a gasp.

“Where is Lieutenant Breda?” This sexy vision asked in Lieutenant Colonel Mustang’s voice.

Ah.

Uhm.

What?

The wom- She- The- Uhm-

“What?”

Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, Hero of Ishval, lifted one pencilled eyebrow.

“Lieutenant Breda, where is he?”

At that moment Heymans saved him by entering the warehouse wearing an ill-fitting suit. Jean looked at him, and he didn’t really know what kind of expression was on his face right now, but it made Heymans frown.

“Ah, good, you’re here.” Mustang said, giving Jean the perfect view of Heymans’ face going through several emotions before settling on resignation. The same kind of resignation he had on his face whenever Jean was about to do something stupid, but knew there was nothing that was gonna stop a drunk or lovesick Jean Havoc. He felt hurt. Now, Jean wasn’t the best at making decisions, but he’d never crossdressed, nevermind in front of his subordinates.

“Lieutenant Colonel Mustang.” Heymans saluted.

Mustang waved it off. “Save the salutes for when I’m not dressed like a mediocre prostitute.” What. “Any news?”

Heymans updated Mustang on a phone booth or something, but Jean’s mind wasn’t with it. He needed a smoke and to wipe out the last couple of minutes from his memory. Wait. The other cons- no, the _only_ consultant wasn’t a dude in a dress as well, was she? He looked back at her, and she was smirking at him and wiggling her eyebrows. Damnit, even if she wasn’t a guy, he’d made too much of a fool of himself to get anything now. He should just be happy that Heymans hadn’t seen him screw up. He noticed Hawkeye wave him over from the corner of his eye.

“Let’s go over your route again.”

Jean nodded gratefully and made his way to her. Hawkeye’s no-nonsense attitude was comforting right now, as she pointed out her position and when she would have a view of him. It was the seventh time they went over this part of the plan, but it was the only part they had any influence over. Unless it all went to shit, but Jean didn’t really want to think about that right now. Mustang being dressed like… _that…_ did leave some questions about his part of the plan now.

“Is, uh,” Jean stared straight at the map so his eyes wouldn’t wander off, “Will the Lieutenant Colonel still be at the police station?”

“No,” Hawkeye sounded almost apologetic. “Lieutenant General Grumman wanted someone from the military to gather evidence, so the Lieutenant Colonel will be going into the bar with Josie and Lieutenant Breda.”

Josie? He looked at the consultant again. She was next to Fuery, leaning over his little radio setup and shoving her boobs in the lucky guy’s face. Boobs. Huh. He looked back at Hawkeye in her rough jeans, shapeless plaid, and leather jacket.

“You’re a woman.”

Hawkeye looked bemused. “Yes.”

“Then why aren’t _you,_ uhm,” Jean gestured in the direction of the Lieutenant Colonel, “going into the bar?”

Hawkeye stared at him.

“Because you’re a woman, it would make more sense for you to be dressed as a-”

Hawkeye’s stare changed into a glare.

“I mean, i-it’s just that, you have, you know, and he doesn’t-” Jean tapered off and stared at the maps again. The question wasn’t that weird, right? Was he supposed to think it was normal for his superior officer to dress like a woman? He looked towards Heymans to try to catch his eye, but he found himself meeting Mustang’s eyes instead. Mustang looked at him for a second, before his eyes moved away to where Hawkeye was. Hawkeye must have signalled something to him, because he nodded.

“Everyone gather around. Sergeant Fuery, keep an ear on the radio.”

He moved to the table, and Heymans and Josie joined them. Mustang’s face was stern and serious as he started the debriefing. The plans stayed mostly the same as this morning, except for Mustang going into the bar or being another witness to the accident. Mustang’s position at the Military Police Station was now taken by First Sergeant Charlie. Jean had seen the guy a few times, but he’d never really gotten the impression that he’d ever been involved in covert ops, or in this case legal kidnapping of crime lords. What had stuck with Jean was the man’s impressive eyebrows and lightning-shaped lines of shaved hair along his defined temples.

“He’ll signal us,” Mustang gestured towards Fuery, “when the arrest warrant is signed. Everything clear so far?”

Jean nodded. One thing wasn’t clear yet, but he had resigned himself to the fact that Mustang wearing a dress was going to happen anyway.

“Good.” Mustang said. “It can take a while before that happens, so I hope everyone brought something to entertain themselves with.”

Well, looked like Jean had time for a smoke after all. Or two. Or three. Or however long it took for the call to come in.

“I brought a pack of playing cards.” Heymans pulled the pack out of his inner suit pocket and put it on the table. He looked around the table and Jean shrugged. Anything was fine by him, as long as he could get a cigarette.

The game of cards wasn’t tense, but every person at the table was impatient, which made it difficult to read tells. Jean had to force himself to stop tapping on the table every couple of minutes, but every second Fuery didn’t get the call was a second that asshole was drinking away other people’s hard earned money. Heymans was throwing looks Fuery’s way every minute or so, Hawkeye’s silence and frown said enough, but he hadn’t gotten to know Josie’s neutral well enough to know what her hair-twirling meant. Mustang was fidgeting with his fur coat, but that could be because he was uncomfortable in it, and rubbing the cards with his long slender fingers could be bluffing or annoyance at the long nails. Biting his lip could be good cards, or Jean wanting to trace it with his fingers. Or his tongue. Or his-

“Sir.” Fuery interrupted his thoughts. “First Sergeant Charlie just gave the signal. The arrest warrant has been issued less than ten minutes ago.”

There was a collective sigh of relief around the table. Jean threw his cards on the table. Damn it, he’d almost had all the threes and aces, but it looked like Heymans would win this round again, with three quartets laid out. Mustang stood up and put down his cards. Damn it, he was the one with the other three and ace. Mustang cleared his throat, and Jean’s eyes snapped up again.

“We will follow plan A, which will give us room for some minor adjustments. If the mole manages to contact him before we’re done, we’ll switch to the shortened plan B.”

Plan A or B, Jean’s costume was simple, just some hair gel and a fake moustache. The guns and other necessary things were already in the cab, so he was done quickly. He traced his routes on the map one more time, reminding himself of the trickier parts. He looked up, wanting to ask Mustang if everything was done, but he was sitting in a chair, swapping out his shoes for a pair of high heels. He stood up, and fuck his legs seemed even longe-

“Is everything ready?”

There was a chorus of “Yes, sir,” that Jean echoed.

The lipstick and short dress didn’t make Mustang’s smirk any less threatening. He’d honestly hate to be Enzo Marazzi right now.

* * *

 

Gods, the fake mustache was itchy. He hadn’t been able to scratch it since “Ming” and Josie got into the back of the borrowed cab with Marazzi. The man had been stumbling already, thanks to whatever alcohol he liked and the added drugs.

“You from outta town, kid?” Marazzi slurred slightly.

Jean briefly met the man’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Yessir, tiny village couple o’ miles outside’a New Optain.”

“Can’t fucking imagine growing up in such a shit place. Barely any pretty girls, and all of ‘em your cousins anyway.” He gave a bark of laughter, and Jean forced himself to laugh as well.

“‘s why I left, sir.”

“Yeah, East City girls aren't so bad.” Marazzi yawned. “Could get used to this.”

If Jean hadn’t read his file he almost would have felt bad for the guy. As it was, Jean only felt happy that the sick bastard was going to disappear behind bars. He hummed and focused on driving the right route. Marazzi was quiet for some time, and when Jean looked in the rearview mirror the man was dozing off with Josie’s head on his shoulder. Jean turned his eyes back on the road. To get to Marazzi’s house he’d have to go straight here, but he took a left, in the direction of the Military Police Station. Marazzi didn’t seem to notice they took a wrong turn, letting out a soft snore instead. Good, but Jean kept an excuse ready if the guy decided to wake up. He snored for a minute, as Jean drove them further away from the bar and Marazzi’s expensive townhouse.

There was a buzzing sound and a flash from the back seat. When Jean looked back in the mirror again, Josie was putting noise dampeners and a blindfold over Marazzi’s head, but the man didn’t seem to notice.

“Thank the Gods, I thought he was never going to pass out.” Mustang’s voice sounded from the backseat. “I can finally get out of this dress.” He said something under his breath that Jean couldn’t catch, but made Josie laugh.

“No one forced you to, and you didn’t even use tape.” There was the sound of something being hit. “Ow! You’re such a brat.”

“Lieutenant, pass me the bag.”

Jean opened the little door in the fenced partition and passed the duffel bag through, keeping his eyes on the road as best as he could. Someone grabbed it and pulled it back. A few seconds later he heard the sound of a zipper. There was more rustling in the backseat, and Jean did _not_ look in the rearview mirror. He changed the radio frequency instead, passing static and music to a frequency that was silent. Hopefully nothing would come up, they were already this far without anything that wasn’t accounted for. A fur coat was pushed on the front seat, followed by a unzipped duffel bag with a wig visible in it.

“I’m glad these windows are tinted.”

Jean kept his eyes on the road, but he did feel a blush creep up at that remark.

The rest of the ride didn’t involve anymore stripping, thank the Gods, just a few low beeps over the radio station. It seemed that Heymans had made his way back to the warehouse with Hawkeye, and they were packing up and heading to the station as well. Good, because Jean was only a few minutes away and they could be needing back-up. Though, maybe not. He hadn’t seen the full force of the Lieutenant Colonel’s flame alchemy yet, but if he had to believe the veterans, it was something to be scared of. There were no Aerugonian gangsters waiting for them by the car entrance of the police station, so it didn’t seem needed. Jean drove up to the gate, which opened almost immediately. He drove further, and pulled up in front of the station itself, where First Sergeant Charlie waited for them with a couple of police officers.

Jean grabbed the duffel bag and got out to open the back door, tearing off the moustache as he went. Mustang emerged, dragging a shackled Marazzi from the backseat. He was wearing pants, thank fuck, and there was nothing about his outfit, or face, or hair, to suggest that he’d been dressed as a woman for most of the evening. A couple of policemen went to help him, taking over Marazzi’s heavy form. Josie came out of the car after that and bent over the passenger seat to grab the fur coat, causing a young policeman to almost drop him.

A man with an impressive moustache walked towards them. “My men will take it from here, Lieutenant Colonel.”

Jean didn’t have much to do after being dismissed except for waiting for the rest of the team. He made his way to the breakroom and poured himself a cup of coffee. Well, tried to, anyway. The stuff coming out of the pot probably had been coffee at some point, but it turned into burned dregs a while ago. He reluctantly entertained himself by cleaning the pot and brewing a new one. He’d just settled down on one of the uncomfortable chairs after fixing some coffee for Josie and himself, when Fuery, Hawkeye, and Heymans entered the room. Damn, where had Heymans gotten that shiner?

“Hey, what happened to your face?”

Heymans didn’t look too happy at that question. “Got punched.” He then pointed at the coffee pot. “Did you make this?”

Jean nodded, and all three made their way to the coffeemaker. They filled out the paper cups with coffee and sat down. Heymans put a towel-wrapped cold pack to his eye.

“Everything went okay on your end?”

“Yeah, didn’t have to hit anyone with the car, and the guy is out like a light.”

“And the Lieutenant Colonel? Is he back in his usual getup?” Heymans seemed to find that question funny, and Fuery and Hawkeye were very focused on their coffee for some reason. Jean grit his teeth.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Heymans sipped his coffee, but kept looking at Jean. Godsdamnit, this was going to follow him for the rest of his life. Speaking of following him, though that wasn’t on purpose, Mustang entered the room with First Sergeant Charlie on his heels. The sergeant looked around the room and went straight for the coffee pot, but Mustang beckoned Hawkeye, who sighed, got up and went towards him. They started to have a low conversation in the corner, and Jean wanted a cigarette. Now.

“I’m gonna go for a smoke.”

Heymans gave him a look that made it clear he knew exactly what Jean was doing, but Jean didn’t care. He needed to get out of the stuffy break room. He managed to get through the door without catching Mustang’s eye and followed the signs to the outside smoking space. He had just pulled out the lighter for his first cigarette of the day when Mustang entered the small courtyard.

“Lieutenant Havoc,” he started, and Jean immediately felt that whatever was going to follow, he wouldn’t like it, “Hawkeye is needed here, so you’ll be driving me home tonight.”

He had been right.

* * *

 

Jean had to focus on the road, not because it was so busy at half past twelve on a Thursday morning, but because if he didn’t his eyes would stray to the passenger next to him again. His passenger, who was softly humming along to a song on the radio station he’d carefully picked out some time ago. The singer was soulfully crooning in one of the Aerugonian languages about roses or something. It wasn't something Jean himself would listen to, unless he was on a date. He wanted to change the station to something twangier, with songs about a girl playing with his heart, or longing for a small town where at night everything was dark, roads without lampposts to light the way he wetted his lips and how his throat bobbed when he-

The road. Focus on the road. There was still a while to go to the Lieutenant Colonel’s apartment. He had to go straight for a bit, then take-

“Take me right here.”

Jean almost jerked the wheel. What? He felt heat creep up his neck, and his mouth was suddenly dry.

“Sir?” He croaked.

“Take a right here, Lieutenant.” Mustang pointed towards the street before the one he was supposed to turn into. Oh, oh. Thank the Gods, he’d just misheard. Jean could breathe again.

“Isn’t that one too early, sir?”

“Ah, yes, my mistake.” Mustang huffed a laugh. “I suppose it is rather dark, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

He wanted to ask further, he wanted to ask about Central City, he’d never been there before, but he also just wanted this to be over with. He wanted to drive the Lieutenant Colonel home, without another word from the guy.

“I’ll get more familiar with this city, eventually.” Mustang apparently didn’t seem to have the same idea. “But it’s so quiet here at night. There are always people around in Central. Rowdy students, people working night-shifts, or less reputable folks.” He hummed, barely audible above the music. “Stores close a lot earlier here as well, I don’t even know where I can get dried pasta for a decent price and-”

The inside of the car was warm, and Jean’s palms were sweaty. He wanted to wipe them dry on his pants, but that would look weird.

“-but I’ve yet to see a cat in any store or restaurant here. I told the grocer that most shops in Central had a cat, and he seemed to find it strange. Your parents own a general store, don’t they, Lieutenant?”

Jean had to swallow before he could speak. “Uh, yes, sir.”

“Did you have a cat?”

“Ah, no, sir.” Jean had to swallow again. “We have dogs.”

“Oh,” But Mustang didn’t sound disappointed at all. “I love dogs.”

Oh, Jean loved dogs too. He almost said it, almost started a conversation about dogs, but he held his tongue. They were almost at Mustang’s place. Just a minute and he’d be out of Jean’s hair.

“What kind of dogs?”

Damn it.

“Just dogs, sir.” They hadn’t been. Daisy, Hemlock, and Parsley had been part of the family, and Jean hoped that wherever they were now, they would forgive him for betraying them. Dill probably wouldn’t understand. Jean’d only seen that dog a couple of times and it was obvious he was dumber than a box of rocks. “For guarding the store.” Jean turned left, into the one-way street Mustang lived on.

“Oh, hmm.” Mustang did sound disappointed now.

The street wasn’t narrow, but the headlights of his car and the streetlights showed that there were a couple of cars parked on the left, and wide sidewalks on both sides of the road. There weren’t any people on the street, but some of the houses still had lights on, downstairs or three- no, four stories up. Mustang lived at 14b, on the right side, and _there._ Jean parked in front of the building and turned off the car. Mustang didn’t exit the car though, and Jean glanced at him to see why.

“Ah,” Mustang patted his coat, “could I bother you for a smoke?”

“What happened to- to the other cigarettes?”

“A bribe.”

Mustang was watching him with lidded eyes, and Jean wanted to- he wanted to-

“I’ll buy you a new carton tomorrow. A more, ah,” Mustang smirked softly, and Jean had never seen someone smirk softly before, but that was the only way he could describe it, “expensive brand.” He continued in a sultry baritone.

Oh, fuck. He only had a few left, but he’d give Mustang the whole carton if it just got him out of the car. He went to take the carton out of his pocket, but he almost dropped it. He fumbled it open, and managed to take one cigarette out, clutching it between his fingers so it wouldn’t fall. He put the carton back, and offered the cigarette to Mustang.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant? You’re shaking.” Goosebumps raced up his arm, making his breath falter, as Mustang took the cigarette from his trembling fingers, spending way too much time touching his skin. “Perhaps you shouldn’t drive anymore.” Mustang rubbed his thumb over Jean’s finger in a move that _had_ to be deliberate. “You could spend the night, if you wanted to.”

Jean couldn’t breathe. Spend the night? That wasn’t- This wasn’t something you’d say to another guy. It was something you’d say to a girl after a nice date. But this hadn’t been a date, and Jean wasn’t a girl. It didn’t make sense to him, but Mustang was still stroking his hand, not taking the cigarette, and he was _looking_ at Jean, in a way that made it clear what he meant. Jean finally took a shaky breath, and- and he didn’t know what to say. He should say no. He _had_ to say no. Jean wasn’t like Heymans, he liked women. Maybe his mind was messed up because Mustang had been dressed as a woman. He wasn’t dressed like that now, but it was late, and Jean was tired, and the dumb music was still coming from the radio and he hadn’t been able to smoke in five hours and there had been all this adrenaline from the case-

“Consider it a standing invitation, Lieutenant.” Mustang pulled his hand back, but he was still looking at Jean with that- that _look,_ and he now had that smirk, the same smirk on the same lips and the same hands and the same eyes and fuck! The same legs too. Godsdamnit, he really didn’t need these thoughts right now, not when Mustang seemed to expect an- an answer, or something. So Jean gave a short nod, and immediately blushed. Really? A nod? He just hoped Mustang understood it was a nod of understanding, not one of- of agreement.

Mustang nodded back though, and smiled, with crinkles in the corners of his eyes and he just looked so _good_ in the soft lighting of the streetlamps. “Goodnight, Lieutenant,” he murmured, then _finally_ left the car, gently closing the door behind him.

Jean had hoped that somehow, if Mustang left the car, everything would return to normal. It didn’t happen though; his hands were still sweaty and shaking and when he tried to take a deep breath, it wavered. He should start the car, drive home, but he watched as Mustang didn’t even light the cigarette, just put it in his coat and walked towards one of the doors. He looked back, towards Jean, and gave a small wave. Godsdamnit, that wasn’t helping. Mustang finally disappeared through the door, and Jean buried his head in his hands, breathing unsteadily.

It was fine. It was nothing. It meant nothing. Marazzi had been fooled by Mustang’s whole… thing too. So it was fine. He’d seen a pretty lady and flirted with her, but he hadn’t flirted with her after he found out she was a he. That was fine, he was over it.

So there was no reason for Jean to have the reaction he was having right now. The only thing that had happened was that he drove Lieutenant Colonel Mustang home while the guy talked about stores and cats. He had asked for a cigarette, and Jean had given him one. It was fine, nothing had happened. He’d go home, smoke, go to bed and get a good night’s rest, and everything would make sense in the morning. He turned the key, started the car, and drove home.

* * *

 

That night he dreamed of hands on his skin, dark eyes, and a low voice groaning _Lieutenant_ in his ear. When he woke up he was alone and tangled in his sheets, panting, sweaty, sticky.

Fuck, he really needed a cigarette.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the amazing Kawaiirun, who is [Kawaiirun on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaiirun/pseuds/kawaiirun), and [Kawaiirun on tumblr](http://www.kawaiirun.tumblr.com).  
> His actions were swift and **just**.  
> Also thanks to the others who made this fic possible, yee all know haw yee haw.  
> Feel free to yell at me on [my tumblr](http://www.stiekemekat.tumblr.com).  
> With [art by Kawaiirun!](http://kawaiirun.tumblr.com/post/181813177801)


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